Over the next few days, Reshid fell into a routine. He donated essence to the tree, and tried to pull in as much power as he could from his crystal. When he grew bored with that, he tried to draw the essence out of the plants around him—everything except the tree he was trying to feed, of course.

He knew what he needed to do. Making the crystal was just part of the exercise. The point was to make himself stronger. That meant drawing in as much essence as he could, over and over, to slowly improve his capacity. Idrin and Bartholomew had both warned that this would eventually affect his personality, but at his current strength it simply didn’t matter. His own soul presented far too heavy a counterweight for the tiny sips of power he absorbed.

All plants had what they referred to as “cultivation” essence, but no two plants really felt exactly the same when he drew their power out. In a way, cultivation essences had personalities. Some wanted to grow quickly, others seemed hungry or thirsty, and flowering plants in particular had an alien planty drive to reproduce.

Overall they were still very similar, but Reshid could easily see how essences from different sentient creatures, like animals or people, might be difficult to deal with.

All of the new recruits spent their mornings working with their unique powers. Some, like Em, performed useful tasks, like sweeping the streets with wind. Others, like Reshid, were sent off to experiment and develop their power and skill. Already, he could feel a difference. Not only could he draw in more essence, he felt younger and stronger, even a little taller. It felt good.

In the afternoons, he returned to the village to meet the others.

Hasan assigned training tasks and work details to them in groups. The groups were each led by one of Hasan’s lieutenants, who mostly selected the same people that they had mentored at dinner a few nights earlier. The ram-revenant, Reshid noticed, selected a full team of four other beast-type revenants.

Reshid’s team was led by Idrin, and included himself, Em, Charlie, and Polonius, a wiry looking water elementalist who introduced himself as Lonnie.

Under Idrin’s direction, they learned to march, to recognize different drum beats that the military used, and various patrol-routes near the village. Then came combat training—unarmed to start with. As they improved and learned to use their essence abilities, they might incorporate weapons, but those would be unique for each revenant.

For Reshid, this was the worst part of the day. Em was unpracticed, but fast. While she couldn’t keep up with a career soldier like Charlie, she excelled at avoiding blows and used her essence abilities naturally and without prompting to help deflect attacks and to distract her opponent. Lonnie was a natural fighter, or perhaps he had experience in his life on the surface. He moved fluidly and fearlessly, and even managed to put Idrin on her back once.

Reshid was, by every measure, terrible. Idrin assured him that he would get better with enough practice, but he hated it all the same. Striking, blocking, grappling—It wasn’t just difficult, it hurt. Still, if he’d learned anything since his death, it was that being able to fight even a little bit was worth the price if it meant not being at the mercy of every deranged creature living in the Deep Paths. At least he could heal the bruises in a few minutes.

Hasan also ordered them to a wide range of more menial tasks, from gathering food and fuel in the forest, to picking up garbage until dinnertime. The work was tedious, but only a few grumbled about it.

It kept them busy, and out of the way of the humans.

The Free Cities’ soldiers unnerved Reshid. Whenever they passed by the palisade or met a patrol on the street, they tensed and gripped their rifles. People like the Duskhaven merchant prince or Agatha might be able to pragmatically weigh the advantages of working with the denizens of the Deep Paths, but that didn’t mean that everyone who came with them shared their cavalier attitude.

Many of them wore the Pantheon’s seven-pointed star necklace, each point representing one of its seven gods, with a symbol in the middle identifying their patron. That they bothered to wear outward signs of devotion at all told Reshid all he needed to know.

Reshid had never been one for religion. Governors and city magistrates couldn’t even be bothered to bend an ear to the troubles of their people. Kings and armies ran roughshod over the land and its people. The gods, if the stories that were told about them were true, treated kings with the same kind of disregard. Only an idiot would want their attention, or expect to be able to attract it.

Of course, the Pantheon forbade the living to go under the earth. The world beneath belonged to the damned and the dark gods. Their presence in the village, and in the Deep Paths, was blasphemous. They didn’t want to be here.

Still, they acted more as though the revenants, not they, were transgressing against the gods.

–-----

Over the next few days, Reshid fell into a routine. He donated essence to the tree, and tried to pull in as much power as he could from his crystal. When he grew bored with that, he tried to draw the essence out of the plants around him—everything except the tree he was trying to feed, of course.

He knew what he needed to do. Making the crystal was just part of the exercise. The point was to make himself stronger. That meant drawing in as much essence as he could, over and over, to slowly improve his capacity. Idrin and Bartholomew had both warned that this would eventually affect his personality, but at his current strength it simply didn’t matter. His own soul presented far too heavy a counterweight for the tiny sips of power he absorbed.

All plants had what they referred to as “cultivation” essence, but no two plants really felt exactly the same when he drew their power out. In a way, cultivation essences had personalities. Some wanted to grow quickly, others seemed hungry or thirsty, and flowering plants in particular had an alien planty drive to reproduce.

Overall they were still very similar, but Reshid could easily see how essences from different sentient creatures, like animals or people, might be difficult to deal with.

All of the new recruits spent their mornings working with their unique powers. Some, like Em, performed useful tasks, like sweeping the streets with wind. Others, like Reshid, were sent off to experiment and develop their power and skill. Already, he could feel a difference. Not only could he draw in more essence, he felt younger and stronger, even a little taller. It felt good.

In the afternoons, he returned to the village to meet the others.

Hasan assigned training tasks and work details to them in groups. The groups were each led by one of Hasan’s lieutenants, who mostly selected the same people that they had mentored at dinner a few nights earlier. The ram-revenant, Reshid noticed, selected a full team of four other beast-type revenants.

Reshid’s team was led by Idrin, and included himself, Em, Charlie, and Polonius, a wiry looking water elementalist who introduced himself as Lonnie.

Under Idrin’s direction, they learned to march, to recognize different drum beats that the military used, and various patrol-routes near the village. Then came combat training—unarmed to start with. As they improved and learned to use their essence abilities, they might incorporate weapons, but those would be unique for each revenant.

For Reshid, this was the worst part of the day. Em was unpracticed, but fast. While she couldn’t keep up with a career soldier like Charlie, she excelled at avoiding blows and used her essence abilities naturally and without prompting to help deflect attacks and to distract her opponent. Lonnie was a natural fighter, or perhaps he had experience in his life on the surface. He moved fluidly and fearlessly, and even managed to put Idrin on her back once.

Reshid was, by every measure, terrible. Idrin assured him that he would get better with enough practice, but he hated it all the same. Striking, blocking, grappling—It wasn’t just difficult, it hurt. Still, if he’d learned anything since his death, it was that being able to fight even a little bit was worth the price if it meant not being at the mercy of every deranged creature living in the Deep Paths. At least he could heal the bruises in a few minutes.

Hasan also ordered them to a wide range of more menial tasks, from gathering food and fuel in the forest, to picking up garbage until dinnertime. The work was tedious, but only a few grumbled about it.

It kept them busy, and out of the way of the humans.

The Free Cities’ soldiers unnerved Reshid. Whenever they passed by the palisade or met a patrol on the street, they tensed and gripped their rifles. People like the Duskhaven merchant prince or Agatha might be able to pragmatically weigh the advantages of working with the denizens of the Deep Paths, but that didn’t mean that everyone who came with them shared their cavalier attitude.

Many of them wore the Pantheon’s seven-pointed star necklace, each point representing one of its seven gods, with a symbol in the middle identifying their patron. That they bothered to wear outward signs of devotion at all told Reshid all he needed to know.

Reshid had never been one for religion. Governors and city magistrates couldn’t even be bothered to bend an ear to the troubles of their people. Kings and armies ran roughshod over the land and its people. The gods, if the stories that were told about them were true, treated kings with the same kind of disregard. Only an idiot would want their attention, or expect to be able to attract it.

Of course, the Pantheon forbade the living to go under the earth. The world beneath belonged to the damned and the dark gods. Their presence in the village, and in the Deep Paths, was blasphemous. They didn’t want to be here.

Still, they acted more as though the revenants, not they, were transgressing against the gods.

–-----

A few weeks later, Reshid’s group headed back to the stables for dinner. Idrin left early to help Leif with the construction of the new barracks. She was one of just two fire elementalists in the village and could massively simplify otherwise time-consuming processes like making lime and tar, and heat treating lumber.

Leif and his team of recruits—stone, wood, and metal revenants—had been building better accommodations for a few days. They worked far faster than normal humans could, but it would still take several days before the main structure was finished.

As they stepped out of an alleyway onto the main road, they found themselves facing a patrol of six humans. The leader, wearing the stripe of a lieutenant on his shoulder, was the man who had attacked Charlie. The man’s eyes locked on him, then on Charlie with an ugly sneer.

“Hold it!”

Reshid’s heart sank. Ignoring the man, he stepped slightly in front of Charlie and tried to brush past. Two of the others barred the way with their rifles. All but one of them wore the seven-pointed star. That one was standing back, looking worried, but he made no move to intervene as the other three circled around them, blocking any escape.

“That’s the one I told you about, the grave-robbing ghoul!” The lieutenant spat. “Did you think we were going to let that slide? You don’t get to disrespect our fallen brothers like that, and we weren't finished yet.”

The lieutenant was clearly enjoying his role. He spat on the ground at Charlie's feet, sneering at the grimace he made as he moved a foot to avoid getting it on himself.

Charlie, to his credit, held up his hands and tried diplomacy.

“Look, I don’t think you understand. I’m not a ghoul…” but the soldiers weren't listening.

Charlie tried to explain that he had, in fact, died and been buried in his uniform, and that ghouls were something quite different from a typical revenant. The officer turned to his men with a self satisfied expression, holding his hand palm up as if presenting Charlie's story to them. The longer he talked, the more smug the man looked.

“You see? I told you. It’s always the same speech! Exactly the same as the last one.” He pointed his weapon at Charlie. “Your lies are pathetic! All those who die in defense of Adumiel’s Light are consecrated against the corruption of the dark gods.” A vein throbbed in the man’s forehead as he spoke. “This is proof. They’re trying to infiltrate the ranks, to invade the surface. It’s treason against the gods themselves!”

The passive soldier who had stood quietly in the back looked more than a little nervous at this point. He took a step back, then ducked into an alleyway. The others didn’t seem to notice. Reshid fervently hoped he was going to get help.

“What do you want to do with them, Geoffrey?” One of the men standing behind them asked, gun trained on Lonnie. The end of the weapon was shaking slightly. Lonnie, for his part, looked annoyed but untroubled, his arms crossed over his chest.

Suddenly, a shout sounded from nearby, followed by the crack of a rifle. That was followed by an inhuman squeal, sounds of impact, and an all too human scream for help.

That was when Geoffrey, the officer, noticed that one of his men was missing. He whirled around, eyes wild.

“Was that Dan? Did they get him?” He whirled around, trying to locate the source of the noise. A howl sounded from the direction that the missing soldier had gone, and was answered by a cacophony of cries, growls, shouts, and insane laughter from all around.

“They must have been watching us. They’ve got us surrounded! Quick, kill them! We need to alert the garrison.”